Black to Red
by Runawaymetaphor
Summary: As the old saying goes, change is never easy.


**Author's note: **_Just. . . because. :-)_

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><p><strong>Black to Red<strong>

"I know we've been gone a while," Tom sighs, "but did they really have to change the uniforms? The new ones are just so. . . _awful."_

Janeway watches the pilot's downtrodden face out of the corner of her eye. It isn't often these days Tom allows himself a truly self-indulgent whine. But she can tell that he's presently on the cusp of just that.

All he needs is a little push.

"Oh, I don't know," she responds casually. "I rather like the new ones."

Tom eyes his (now) erstwhile Captain with suspicion, finding it difficult to believe she's genuinely alright with giving up a garment she donned for the better part of a decade.

Not when he knows, so concretely, how much she actually fears change.

"You like the grey?" he prods. "I mean the command red wasn't the most flattering, I guess. But this grey- _nothing_ can be done about how bad this grey wears."

"Really?" she says, now only superficially feigning innocence. "I think I look rather good in the grey. . . Do you disagree, Lieutenant Commander?"

A loud, unseemly snort is heard next to her. The fact that he doesn't even try to keep it in pries loose her own smirk, which she had thus far successfully repressed.

"Of course not. _Admiral_. Ma'am."

She winces at the use of her new title, the idea of it still giving her what Tom refers to as 'the willies'. But it isn't as if she can get angry at him for using it, especially when she's the one who started this little game.

After a minute, the once comfortable silence turns stale, the lighthearted feeling falling, brittle and broken, to the floor. When he opens his mouth to finally say something, she quickly cuts him off.

"I know what you're going to say, Tom. And you're right; we should talk about it. . . But not today, okay?"

It's what Kathryn always says. And on the rare occasion that she doesn't, he's quick to supply the line himself. Terrified of what will happen if one of them doesn't say it. Doesn't put off what they've both been delaying for ages now.

"Sure thing, Kath," he replies easily.

Another pause, this time different in character; a silence that is far more comfortable than it should be, and punctuated only by the faint rustle of bed sheets, as they bask, for a few more minutes, in this thing that has remained somehow unchanged.

"I should really go," she says reluctantly. "I told your father and the other brass I was just transporting back to Indiana for lunch."

"And how _was_ lunch?" Tom asks cheekily.

"Satisfying as always," she smiles, as he gets up to begin hunting for his clothing.

"Do you see my other shoe?"

"Under the chair, in the corner there."

"And my turtleneck?"

"No idea." She adds, reaching for her own uniform, "you know you wouldn't have to go through this every time if you folded up your clothes, the way I do."

Sliding one leg into his newly wrinkled pants, Tom watches as she covers up her own porcelain skin with her under things, then her socks, and so on. Observes Kathryn Janeway, in the same wonder he always has, as she makes a neat and tidy business of something that has never been either of those things.

He stops looking at her only to pull on his own turtleneck (finally found, crumpled and under the bed), and then his much-loathed grey jacket, the latter earning one last string of muttered curses as he regards it with a grimace.

"How do I look?" she asks him, once she's dressed and he's still putting on his shoes.

"Amazingly proper." The statement, however true, is paired with a shake of his head. Because while he's still a bit of a mess, she's unlined and crisp, and (in the manner of all smart, worldly women) has somehow managed to tame her hair into a style that gives away absolutely nothing about the afternoon's events.

And the worst part is, she really _does_ look good in the grey.

"What about me?"

"Ehh," she shrugs.

"Ehh?" he repeats indignantly, though his lips turn up in the promise of a grin.

"What can I say?" she winks. "You were right. You really did look better in the red."

* * *

><p><em>And I've been taking chances,<br>I've been setting myself up for the fall,  
>I've been keeping secrets,<br>From my heart and from my soul._

_Going from road to road,_  
><em>Bed to bed,<em>  
><em>Lover to lover,<em>  
><em>And black to red.<em>

Florence + the Machine, "Lover to Lover"


End file.
